You see Martial Artist Aerathor, Infiltration Specialist of the Monks, a Human.
Aerathor has an oval face and deep-set blue-grey eyes. His golden brown hair is short and thick, and is worn in a careless, windblown arrangement. He has tanned skin.
He is very tall for a Human. He has a lean build.
He is wearing a flowing martial artist's headband embroidered with a blazing sun, a flowing martial artist's robe embroidered with a golden scaled serpent, a gleaming haralun quarterstaff, a leather weapon harness with polished brass buckles and fittings, a black leather naphtha holder with vial slots stitched to the sides and some fitted shadowy black sandals with detailed straps
After being orphaned near the end of the Sorrow War at the age of 10, Aerathor spent his early years living as a vagabond on the streets of The Crossing relying on stealth and his wits. Having no ties left to his family to reach out to he was an easy target for gang recruitment. His age and skills made him ideal for running illegal goods in and out of the city after they had been smuggled in from Qi'Reshalia. His reward for a successful shipment brought in from the docks safely was usually a small taste of tea made from the Oshu'mary he regularly delivered into the heart of the city, and perhaps enough Kronar to buy food and drink for a few days. The coin always ran out fast however and the winter months were especially hard when the shipyard traffic slowed. It was on a cold winter night that a simple act of kindness changed his life forever and put him onto a new path.
As hey lay sleeping on the cold streets, shivering without blankets or shelter, a monk passing by laid something upon him bringing him warmth and protecting him from the chilling winds. In the morning when he woke to find himself wrapped in a cloak bearing a crystal hand wrapped around an amber jewel and not knowing where it came from he placed the cloak on his shoulders thankful for the good fortune. After stretching and rubbing his eyes he realized he was lost on the outskirts of town. The familiar pangs of hunger set in and bid him to begin walking in search of a bread cart. It wasn't long however before his newfound garment attracted unwanted attention. In the corner of his eye he noticed movement and before he could react, he was quickly surrounded by several sleazy looking louts who had been in the area looking for an easy mark. One of them, most likely the leader stepped forward to speak.
"That is quite the fancy cloak for a pick snapper like yourself". Laughter echoed across the street as the group began to advance with weapons drawn. Looking around Aerathor realized he had nowhere to flee. As his eyes darted about for a place to hide or escape to, he heard the soft clatter of a dagger dropping to the pavement followed by a hollow thud as the leader of the group collapsed unconscious. If not for the steady sound of his breathing the sudden silence would have been complete. Anticipation hung in the air of the narrow street until a shadowy figure suddenly materialized beside the remainder of the group. Before they could react decisive strikes left them crippled and broken on the ground. As the leader stirred into consciousness a deathly silent circle of light spun into being, whirling and bristling with glistening spines until coalescing into a dark crystalline spike. The spike crackled with a shimmering light before discharging an undulating blast towards the sleazy lout. The blast most likely stopped its heart, since it was laying on the ground in a dozen burning pieces.
Still in shock but thankful for the rescue Aerathor stared in awe at the wizened monk standing before him. "These poor fools never had a chance, they began down the wrong path early on. You too will have to make a choice." The monks calm voice carried confidence and sincerity with it. Something about his presence was reassuring and comforting. "The path I can set you upon will not be easy, but it will be worth it. Come now with me child, and I will see you learn the ways of the Crystal Hand." Without waiting for a response the monk silently turned and walked slowly towards the observatory rising over the middens in the distance. A cold wind picked up and Aerathor realized the monk was wearing no cloak. Still hungry but no longer lost he followed.
As an adult his lineage was traced back to the Moonbender Family along with others who had been separated over time by war and travel.
- Spent the majority of his life on Ratha and the other islands of Qi'Reshalia training his mind and body in the arts of war.
- Joined the Monks of the Crystal Hand at an early age, rose to an Ascetic by age 19.
- Enjoy's Oshu'mary tea and smoking. They are two of the three luxuries he allows himself on a regular basis. The third is a hot bath.
- Is seeking answers to the strange recent events surrounding Tiv and the connection that may exist to the Arbiter.
- Believes in the existence of a nameless creative force that is responsible for all life and awareness in existence in all the various planes.
- Has changed over time, his once calm demeanor has been replaced with one of unrest.
- Has grown increasingly passionate about reforms within the Lunar Accord.
- Seeks to increase the wealth and respect of his guild
- Bonded to Avelia